Strengths and Weaknesses
by Sekihara Tae
Summary: What's the dividing line between one's strengths and weaknesses? Kenshin discovers the nature of his when a new and unexpected threat rips his family asunder. Alternate reality fic, started prior to Watsuki introducing Kenji.
1. Battousai's Child

  


**Battousai's Child**

* * *

Kenshin awoke as a light weight settled on his chest, and felt gentle fingers come to pat his face scant seconds later. Little fingers. Persistent fingers. "Otouchan!" The voice in his ear was breathy and impatient, only vaguely aware that whispers were supposed to be quiet.

Opening one eye, he looked up into a smaller pair the same soft shade as his own. "Oro?"

Leaning down until they were nose to nose, the little hands immediately clamped over his mouth. "Shhhhhh! You'll wake okaachan!"

Nestled close beside him, he felt Kaoru shake in silent laughter at this admonishment, the childish voice no softer than his own had been. Eyes smiling, he pried the shushing fingers away from his lips, but before he could speak the little one was off again.

"Otouchan! It'smorningit'smorningit'smorning!" She pressed her face against his excitedly, smushing his nose flat with hers, "Can we go now? Can we? Can we?"

He blinked, trying to focus both thoughts and eyes. "Oro? Go? Go where?"

"Otoouuuchaannnn!" her voice was stricken, horrified that he seemed to have forgotten. "You promised we would go shopping for okaachan's birthday present today!" Snuggling her head into the crook of his neck she repeated insistently, "You promised! You promised! You did! You _promised_!"

Struggling not to laugh as her whispering tickled his ear, Kenshin conceded, "Maa, maa... so I did, so I did... but do we have to go right _now_?"

"Yeeesss!!" the little arms tightened around his neck, tugging at him, "Now! Now!"

Kaoru's shoulders shook again, and a sidelong glance found her blue eyes open, sparkling with laughter as she watched them. "Now?" he repeated, feigning puzzlement.

"Yessss!" She mashed her face against his again for emphasis, whispering still, "Now!! Please? Pleeeease?!"

"What a lot of noise!" Kaoru laughed, propping herself up on one elbow, "Ohayou, Kiriko-chan."

"Okaachan, ohayou!" Kiriko crowed, sitting up on Kenshin's chest, beaming brightly at her mother. Otouchan wasn't cooperating with _her_, but maybe he would listen to okaachan. "Please, tell otouchan that it's morning! He said we would go shopping today. He did! He promised! He did, he did!"

"He did, did he?" Kaoru gave Kenshin a mock-stern look, noting how his lips twitched with the effort not to smile. Kiriko was only three, but she was an _observant_ three. "Well, if he promised, I expect he will, ne? Otouchan always keeps his promises, doesn't he?"

"Otouchan always keeps his promises," Kenshin agreed, reaching out to tug teasingly at Kiriko's braid, smiling as she giggled.

"Wai! Wai!" she bounced up and down on his chest, "Now? Can we go now?"

"Mou, whatever has you so excited, Kiriko-chan?" Kaoru asked, pushing the covers back and rising to her feet.

"Can't tell," Kiriko confided, looking up at her mother, "otouchan says it's a sur... a sur..."

"Surprise," Kenshin supplied, tugging on her braid again as he raised his eyes to Kaoru's, "it's a surprise."

"Ahh," Kaoru smiled, nodding knowingly, "then it's sure to be something very special. But... no one goes anywhere until you've been dressed and fed." Her tone was gentle -- not reproving, merely firm.

"Yes, okaachan." Holding her arms out, she waited for Kaoru to pick her up, then wrapped them snugly around her mother's neck. Kenshin watched them go, the two dark heads close together as they talked, his beloved and his child. His family.

"_Both _of you!" Kaoru called over her shoulder, her voice punctuated by Kiriko's, "Hurry, otouchan!" and he laughed, willingly trading the warm comfort of the futon for the warmth of their company.

* * *

"Don't teach her that," Kaoru scolded as Yahiko wiped his face on his sleeve, encouraging Kiriko to do the same.

"Awww... Kaoru, half the fun of having her around is teaching her stuff that you don't want her to do." He grinned as he said it, and Kiriko giggled, violet eyes bright over the rim of her bowl.

"Yahiko!"

"Besides, she already knows better, don't you midget?"

"Hai!" the little head bobbed up and down, "Yahiko-oniichan is always in trouble," she observed seriously.

"Oi! I wouldn't say 'always'!" Yahiko protested..

"Mmmm. Always," Kiriko insisted, her eyes widening at Kaoru's laughter, "Okaachan?"

"Nevermind," Kenshin told her, gently overriding the bickering in the background, "just finish your breakfast."

"Ne, Kenshin?" Kaoru asked, her laughter subsiding, "can you get some tofu while you're in town? It'll save Yahiko a trip."

Yahiko opened his mouth to protest, thought about it, and snapped it shut again. Kenshin chuckled, noting the young man's reluctance to lose another argument. "I don't mind. Kiriko-chan can help me remember." He smiled as she nodded her head vigorously, her cheeks glowing with pride at the importance of this task.

"Gochisousama!" the exclamation was triumphant, as if having to wait through breakfast had been a trial. Returning her bowl to the table, she looked expectantly at her father.

"I think that means she's ready to go," Kaoru translated, her eyes crinkling at the corners with fond amusement.

"Aa." Kiriko seemed to have an endless supply of energy and excitement, making it almost exhausting just to watch her. "Kiriko-chan, go get the tofu-oke from the kitchen," he told her, "and then we can go." He watched her skip down the hall, only to return a few moments later at a run, holding the requested container on her head with both hands. "Oro?" Kenshin blinked as she raised her arms, obviously expecting to ride on his shoulders. Something about her playful face peeping out from beneath the wooden bucket tugged at him, telling him to remember, and he stared at her for a long moment. 

"Otouchan?" the little voice was worried, the arms starting to sag, snapping him out of his daze.

"It's alright," he reassured her, reaching out to take the oke off of her head. "Shoes, koneko," he reminded her, "you need your shoes."

"Ah!" She looked down at her feet, warm in their tabi, and then craned her head around to look at her mother.

"On the steps leading into the dojo yard." Kenshin was already there, stepping into his sandals, and Kiriko scrambled to catch up, putting hers on the wrong feet in her haste. Propping her elbow against the table, resting her chin in her palm, Kaoru watched Kenshin patiently correct the little one before settling her on his shoulders. The onetime rurouni needed someone to care for the way other people needed water or air; and Kiriko gave him that -- someone to love and protect without fear of hurting her pride or her independence. Her lips twitched. _Kami-sama help us when she gets older..._

"We're leaving!" Kiriko called, waving with one hand, the other fisted tightly in her father's red hair.

"Take care!" Kaoru replied, breaking out of her reverie. The gate creaked gently closed behind them, and she turned to Yahiko. "Ready for today's round of classes?"

* * *

"Otouchan?" Kiriko's chin rested on the top of Kenshin's head, her hands clasped together under his jaw.

"Aa?"

"What do you think we should get okaachan?"

Unseen, her father's eyes softened, and his voice was soft with memory when he spoke. "Flowers. Okaachan always gets flowers on her birthday."

"Really?" She leaned sideways, trying to see his face, and he reached a steadying hand to support her. "Why?"

"Flowers were the first present I ever gave her," he answered, his tone turning rueful, "but... I was over a month late, and I had hurt her feelings..."

"Otouchan!" Kiriko shook her head, surprised to hear he could ever have been so careless. _Hurt okaachan's feelings? Otouchan?_

Kenshin smiled at her gentle scolding, "Aa. I know. That's why okaachan gets flowers for her birthday." _So I can tell her I'm sorry, and that I would've gotten it right if only I knew._ Kiriko was quiet, and he could tell she was thinking. A moment later he felt something warm and wet land in his hair, followed by another, and another. He stopped in the middle of the street, startled and worried. _What?_ "Kiriko-chan? What's wrong?"

Kiriko gulped, trying not to cry. _Okaachan deserves flowers, ne? Ne? But... otouchan said Kiriko-chan could get okaachan a present. He said we would pick something together!_

When she didn't answer Kenshin knelt, lifting her down from his shoulders to face him. The little one's violet eyes were wide and distressed, and her lower lip trembled. "Koneko?" he asked, using his pet name for her.

"I... I..." she sniffled, before throwing her arms around his neck, wailing piteously about "okaachan" and "present".

Kenshin smiled down at the dark head, so like her mother's, buried in his shoulder. "Oh, koneko... of course you can. Otouchan promised, didn't he?" She nodded, rubbing at her tears with one little hand. Gently wiping them away with the edge of his sleeve, he kissed her on the forehead, and teasingly ruffled her hair. "What do you think okaachan would like?" he coaxed, holding her against him as he continued down the street. "A new ribbon? Perfume?" By the time they reached the center of town, she was laughing and smiling again.

He willingly let her tow him from shop window to shop window, store to store, looking for just the right present. They finally decided on a new handbag in soft shades of blue and purple, decorated with cherry blossoms. "It looks like okaachan," Kiriko whispered when she saw it, and Kenshin had to agree. Kaoru had always been fond of sakura... and blue and purple were her favorite colors, her eyes and his. 

Standing beside him, one hand fisted in his hakama, Kiriko watched the customers while the shopkeeper packaged their purchase. It wasn't long before her attention was caught by a display of multi-colored ribbon, and letting go of his pant leg she scampered over for a closer look. Kenshin turned his head slightly to watch her, always aware of where she was and what she was doing, and smiled as she began chattering amiably at a man standing by the display.

"Okaachan would like that one," Kiriko confided, pointing at a blue and purple striped spool, "it matches the present we're buying for her birthday."

Looking down to find the source of this unsolicited information, Keiichi was startled to discover a strikingly adorable child standing beside him. She was tiny -- not more than three years of age, and small even for that -- with midnight hair and wide, trusting eyes. Violet eyes. Not blue, but a most unusual shade of purple. _I've only seen eyes that color once before..._ He must have said something aloud because she answered with great pride, "I have otouchan's eyes."

And turning, she pointed at a man with red hair, crossed scars on his cheek. 

_Battousai._

* * *

Index of Japanese terms:

(1) Otouchan - daddy (or father or dad or whatever you prefer)  
(2) Okaachan - mommy (or mother or mom or whatever you prefer)  
(3) Maa maa - now, now  
(4) Ohayou - good morning  
(5) Kiriko - written with the kanji for "rejoice" "benefit" and "child"  
(6) Mou - goodness, "geez!"  
(7) Gochisousama - the meal was delicious; signals that one is done with the meal  
(8) Koneko - kitten  
(9) Kami-sama - God   
(10) Tabi - those split-toed socks everyone wears  
  


Sekihara Tae  
tae@sekihara.dreamhost.com  
January 31, 1999  
Revised September 11, 2000 


	2. Twisted Motivation

  


**Twisted Motivation**

* * *

Keiichi sat alone in the sake shop, drinking cup after cup, numbing old memories with deceptively sweet alcohol. He'd been there most of the afternoon, arriving shortly after meeting the child in the millinery. _Battousai's_ child. Swallowing jealous resentment along with the wine, he slowly poured himself another, his hand unsteady with excess. _Suffer the innocents,_ he thought, self-pity rising within him along with the alcohol in his blood. _The world shouldn't work this way._

The Ishin revolution had taken its toll on the people of Japan, even more so on those of Kyoto. His had been a merchant family, common people, innocents never meant to experience war in its harsh reality. Unlike the samurai, he had no understanding of a warrior's honor and duty, nothing to salve his spirit and breed acceptance of the turmoil. Family, wealth, and position had all been ripped from him; and the losses he'd suffered remained still, half-healed wounds that caused him to rail against the injustices of life. _Everything taken in a single night, destroyed in a single moment. _ Keiichi's blurred vision rendered reflected candle flame into a small conflagration, yet another reminder of unwanted recollection. Kyoto ablaze, buildings destroyed. . . his home among them. The fire still appeared to him nightly in dreams, causing him to wake in anguish, his heart racing with suppressed panic, Shiomi's screams echoing in his mind. Shiomi, stolen from him as night fell across the city and flame lit the streets. Shiomi, her midnight hair dusted with soot and her starlit eyes staring blankly, terrified, even in death. He'd arrived at their home in time to hear her terrified screams, to see the stairs collapse, to know he was too late. Fighting through the flames to her side, he could do no more than rescue her body from the blaze. 

Gasping a painful breath, he drank again, racing to drown the surfacing memories before they swept him under. The effort was counter-productive: rice wine served only to make his nightmare visions all the more real. Losing his wife and their unborn child had been only the first, most poignant of the tragedies he'd suffered that night. Hours later, as he sat cradling her body in the burnt-out ruin of their once grand home, the cold-eyed government official arrived, delivering his message without a gram of pity: the family warehouse had been destroyed, his father killed.

Keiichi rubbed eyes gritty from unshed tears, struggling for at least the semblance of composure. It had been months before the debilitating shock receded, and he realized that he could not sit idle, wallowing in sorrow. Samurai honor might elude him, but that between father and son did not: he must continue what the older man had begun. Slowly, painstakingly, he rebuilt his life from the shambles of the fire and revolution, trading on his father's reputation and business contacts to make a place for himself in Meiji Japan. Now, more than fifteen years later, Hanabira was once again a respected name, backed by wealth. Yet he had lost far more than material goods in the fire, and he was only just beginning to piece the tatters of family together again.

The thought gave him a twinge of remorse as he glanced at his watch open on the table before him. He had remarried, as ambitious men do, seeking children rather than a wife; wanting family, not wedlock. Shiomi had been his heart; Naeko, his wife of but a year, was little more than an attractive means to an end. Still... she deserved better from her husband than to worry over his late return from a day's business; there was affection between them, however they came to be married, and whatever their difficulties in achieving his goals. 

Yet it was those very difficulties which had led him to the sake shop, as surely as the sight of Battousai's daughter. Their barren union tied the tattered shreds of his bitterness into hard, jealous knots. _Why? Why should a hitokiri be so blessed? Why, when he and his kind took so many lives? Why, when so many innocents still suffer?_ Keiichi shook his head and poured himself another saucer of wine. _Life shouldn't work this way._  


* * *

Mishio swore under his breath as he walked swiftly, purposefully, through Tokyo's dark streets. Night had long since fallen, the dinner hour come and gone, and still his erstwhile brother-in-law had not seen fit to return home. Now he was on an errand of responsibility that long since should have ceased to be his -- should never have become his. Bound by the vow he'd made her, he'd lost far more than his sister when Shiomi fell to her death; he'd lost his freewill. Blithely swearing to protect Keiichi like a brother, as closely as ever he had her, Mishio found himself trapped.

Of course, it hadn't felt that way in the beginning. At first, the two men had grieved together, drawing strength from the sharing. Or at least Mishio had. Over time, he'd realized that Keiichi had not -- moving on in time, growing as a business man, but remaining emotionally locked in that moment of horror, fifteen years before. Bound by his word and their earlier friendship, Mishio stood by him, a supportive hand as Keiichi waded toward shore and could heal on his own. The recollection was a bitter one. He'd given up his own ambitions in the name of family, and now found himself little more than the other man's guardian and common sense.

_Not to mention his conscience._ Tightly drawn lips curved into a self-deprecating smile at the thought. So much he'd lost and could never recover. Still, as often as he'd regretted the promise his twin had extracted, it grated most when he was called upon to uphold it by her successor in Keiichi's life. Naeko's loneliness stemmed from her husband's longing for another, and -- much though he'd loved his sister, and cherished her memory -- Mishio was becoming increasingly disgusted with his onetime brother-in-law's inability to loose his hold on what was gone and grasp on to what he had. Naeko was a beautiful, talented woman; intelligent yet respectful, with unexpected skill in smoothing the ruffled feathers of those around her -- from servants, to clients, to family.

_And she rarely, if ever, expresses dissatisfaction with her husband._ Drawing to a halt in front of one of the town's more respectable tea houses, Mishio's let his features settle into a reproving mask. Keiichi was no doubt inside, his mind soaking in sweet rice wine and his body slow with alcoholic stupor. _If he can still move at all._ Distasteful as he found his errand, the actual effort involved was never great: long standing familiarity made the other man's movements easy to predict. Although he'd restored his father's decimated business to its former glory, the man Mishio had once admired was seemingly unwilling to make a similar success of his personal life. Following Shiomi's death, Keiichi had developed a habit for sake, one he returned to when confronted with any sort of emotional stress. There was no telling what had triggered the reaction this time, but it was the most probable reason for his unexpected absence. 

Sliding the wooden door aside he entered, waving away the young waitress as she approached with a quietly spoken greeting. As expected, his quarry was slumped at a table in the corner, drawing idle circles in puddles spilled by shaky hands. When Mishio settled himself on the opposite side of the low surface, Keiichi didn't even look up.

"It's not fair, Mishio," he mumbled, the words sullen but intelligible, betraying little of the excess his manner revealed.

"What, aniki?" came Mishio's harsh, clearly exasperated reply. "What injustice led you here this time, when you have a wife waiting at home with your dinner, favorite kimono, and hot green tea? What horror has intruded upon your idyllic life?" Kami-sama how it grated, forced to play keeper to this emotionally stunted, useless sot.

If the business man noticed his brother-in-law's sarcastic tone, he gave no indication. "Children are a blessing, aren't they, Mishio? A gift that should be given only to the deserving." He reached for the sake bottle but Mishio withdrew it before he could complete the motion. Contenting himself with the dregs remaining in his cup, Keiichi continued, "Only the blameless should be fruitful, Mishio. Such innocence should never have been placed in the care of an Ishin hitokiri." Running a hand through his hair, he shook his head, voice dropping to a whisper. "She should have been ours, mine and Naeko's. Like to like."

Prepared to dismiss the muttered rambling as more of Keiichi's drunken delusions -- yet another alcoholic dream -- Mishio's attention was caught by the unexpected reference to an Ishin hitokiri. From time to time there were rumors on the street, in the circles within which he moved, of such a man living peacefully among Tokyo's ordinary citizens. Not just any hitokiri, either, but one who'd made a name for himself despite the secrecy in which he worked - perhaps even because of it. Although Shiomi's death had not forced him into the maddened depression with which Keiichi still struggled, the thought that one of the Ishin death-dealers survived to live in comfort did fill him with a lingering, smoldering resentment... enough to make him wonder if perhaps this time the other man's emotional foundering had some basis in reality. That possibility, however slight, tempered his reflexively caustic response.

"Keiichi." The sound of his name drew the other man's wavering sight and attention back to Mishio's face. "What hitokiri? She who?" Again, Keiichi shook his head, forcing Mishio to bite back a resurgence of frustration. "Keiichi! _She who_?!"

Massaging bloodshot eyes with trembling fingers, Keiichi's reply was petulant. "The little girl! In the dress shop!" Reaching out he grasped the younger man's arm in a surprisingly tight hold. "Oh Mishio... she was so beautiful, and had the most amazing eyes. Deep violet, like iris blooms in April." His breath caught on a half-sob, voice faltering as he released his brother-in-law's arm to clench his hands into anguished fists. "Her father's eyes, she said... her_ father's_ eyes!"

Understanding part of Keiichi's ranting was little better than understanding none at all. He was obviously horrified by the child's progenitor. _No, not horrified; insulted. As if Kami-sama had brought the child into the world just to slight him. _Mishio almost smiled at the thought. That, at least, was typically Keiichi. _But who...?_

"Battousai!" Keiichi all but moaned as if answering the unvoiced question. "She was _Battousai's_ daughter, Mishio!" He reached for the sake bottle again, and this time Mishio was too dazed to stop him. "Why? Why was such a demon allowed to father children?" Gulping rice wine as if to rinse his mouth after the vehement outburst, he lapsed back into subdued melancholy. "She should have been ours."

Watching his brother-in-law continue to pickle what was left of his senses, Mishio slowly digested what he'd learned. _So the rumors were true... true, but lacking in detail._ Not only was the legendary hitokiri living in Tokyo, but he'd started a family. Considering all Keiichi had lost, his anger was almost understandable.

What surprised Mishio was his own.

It was the Ishin who'd planned to set Kyoto aflame to further their revolution, heedless of the innocent lives that would be lost in the blaze. The Ishin who were responsible for Shiomi's death, however indirectly, because of their reckless plans.

And it was the Battousai, who'd protected them, done their dirty work, weeded out the opposition so that the Ishin could carry out those plans.

Perhaps it wasn't the most reasonable of accusations, but in the rising red haze of anger, it seemed so: the Battousai was responsible for his twin's death, the state of his own existence, Keiichi's misery, and Naeko's lonely marriage. His actions had allowed the Ishin revolutionaries to destroy their lives... and now, fate had handed Mishio a means to reciprocate.

Reaching out, he grasped Keiichi's shoulder, shaking him slightly to gain his attention. "Yes," Mishio agreed, "she should."

* * *

Author's Notes:

(1) Oh my god! I wrote something! After what... over a year's hiatus?? (O.o) I hope it's halfway decent. (^^;) 

(2) Thanks to the members of the rkresource ML for setting me straight about the details of the Kyoto fire. I know Mishio still has things a bit twisted, but that's as designed. Call it... perspective. 

(3) This is dedicated to Risu-chan. I think everyone knows why.

  


Index of Japanese terms:

(1) aniki -- brother  
  


Sekihara Tae  
tae@sekihara.dreamhost.com  
February 18, 2002


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